


Limo

by allthatconfetti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Belgium NT, Belgium National Team, M/M, Tottenham Hotspur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthatconfetti/pseuds/allthatconfetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jan and Mousa go home from the airport in a limo. They bicker as they always do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limo

**Author's Note:**

> I AM STILL A COPOUT WHEN IT COMES TO MAKEOUT FIC. Sob, I'm sorry. I'll do better by you boys next time. In the meantime, I wanted to write shameless fluff for Moussie's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOUSA :D stay beautiful, get better at the football. <3

Mousa hears the car door shut and immediately closes his eyes, leaning back into the plush leather. He could hear Jan giving the driver instructions outside before sliding in next to him. He toes off his trainers and they fall on the floor with a soft thud.

"You are such a princess," Jan scolds him lightly, but even with his eyes closed Mousa could sense the smile in his tone.

"You're much better than me at talking to people," Mousa replies. He already feels half-asleep, the ninety-plus minutes of football the day before settling into his bones already. "Besides, you love the cameras too much, so why not do more talking?"

Jan laughs, and it makes Mousa think of springtime. Jan's laugh always makes him think of happy things.

(It was one thing to be best friends with a team mate, another entirely to be fucking him. And what he and Jan had, well, that was on a different level altogether.)

"Are you still annoyed that I kept telling the camera crew all those things, Mous?"

Mousa shrugs. Jan knows that it's the kind of shrug that ends conversations because this is treading into territory that they spent countless hours over countless years arguing over.

(Jan never really hid their relationship, a fact which alternately amused and annoyed Mousa depending on the situation. It was practically an open secret in the national team anyway, and the coach didn't really mind so long as there was no sex before games (which, to be fair, is a rule that applied to everyone, regardless of who they were fucking.) Still, Mousa didn't know these men on the documentary team. And he certainly didn't know any of those people who would be watching the footage of Jan relentlessly teasing Mousa during the build-up to the games in their qualifying campaign.)

"Mousa," Jan repeats, and Mousa tries to pretend he's asleep. He doesn't like arguing with Jan, especially not after the game yesterday (and seeing Jan as captain) gave him such a high. For about a minute or so, he thinks it's working. Then he feels Jan's finger drilling into his side and he sighs. He opens his eyes and Jan is staring at him.

Jan is staring at him with his clear blue eyes and he's so close, much closer than he was when he got into the car. His chin is practically perched on Mousa's shoulder, but he maintains just enough distance to avoid touching him. Mousa breathes in and all he can smell is Jan--aftershave and strawberries (he liked to chew gum everywhere) and the underlying smell of soap and cotton. He feels a nearly irresistible urge to burrow his face into Jan's throat and wrap himself around him.

"I'm not mad," Mousa says, his voice soft. He shifts so that they're sitting face to face. "You just, you know how I feel about our privacy."

"I do. I've known about it for almost ten years," Jan says, smiling. He takes Mousa's hand and intertwines their fingers together easily, away from the view of the driver.

"People might talk, you know."

"Well that's that point, Mous!"

"You know I don't want people looking too closely at us."

"I know that, Mous, but that's not what I mean."

Mousa puffs, annoyed because this was exactly what he did not want.

"I just," Jan says, looking down at their hands, "I just want everyone to know how amazing I think you are."

Mousa is about to scoff when Jan talks over him. "I mean it, Mousa. Really," he insists. "I'm sorry if you think I go overboard, but to me, you're the best."

"Jantje..."

"You always have been."

Mousa ducks his head, and he can't resist smiling shyly, because when Jan uses that tone of voice, he knows he means every word. He sits up abruptly, nearly clocking Jan in the process. He reaches over, draping himself over Jan's lap and peering closely at the panel of buttons on the other side of the car.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find the button that will close the window between us and the driver because I really want to kiss you right now."

Jan laughs, and then reaches over to press the button himself.


End file.
